


Knight And Mage

by mediocrityatbest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Other, but there is violence and a battle and a stab wound, i don't think the violence is graphic, the usual, their relationship is left up to interpretation, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest
Summary: Roman gets wounded in battle. It's fatal. Or...under other circumstances, it would be.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Knight And Mage

**Author's Note:**

> Request off Tumblr for the prompt, "I'm sorry, I know it hurts but you have to trust me, okay?" with Logince and Roman hurting.

There was...a...battle? Was that right? Was he remembering correctly or was it just another dream? Why can’t Roman remember? Where is he...lying? Is he lying? This didn’t feel like a bed. Why doesn’t it feel like a bed? He wouldn’t have gone to sleep on the ground, would he? That doesn’t make any sense. He’s a knight, not a barbarian.

Roman shifts, trying to sit up, and a slicing pain shrieks through his abdomen. He falls back, gasping. He tries to move a hand to where the pain is stemming from but his arm won’t move. Is it stuck? Immobilized? What is happening?

Roman slowly becomes aware of the sounds of metal clashing around him. It sounds like metal. A practice ring? Why would Roman have gone to sleep there?

A flash of blue light streaks over Roman, sparkling like dragon scales.  _ Oh _ . This is a battle. This is a battle, and Roman was fighting in it until he...until…

Until he got hurt. Roman is hurt! Well, that makes much more sense than sleeping on the ground. (It was going to absolutely ruin his armor. Mud in between the plates, coating the leather joints? He’d never get it clean.)

He tries to sit up again and this time a short groan comes out of his mouth of its own volition. Right. Hurt. He’s been stabbed. In the abdomen.  _ That _ must be why he can’t sit up. Roman takes a deep breath (it burns, expanding his lungs and chest, that can’t be good) and focuses on his body. Why can’t he move his arms? That’s important, the most important. He can’t deal with the stab wound until he can move his arms.

The first thing he realizes is that his arms are  _ freezing _ . The next is that his stomach is covered in a warm liquid. The last is that there is nothing sitting on him, prohibiting his movement. It is as simple as his body refusing to work with him on any level.

That is, admittedly, not what he had been hoping for.

“-oman! Please, just look at me, gods damnit!” Roman smiles despite himself at that voice. Frantic with worry or low and soothing or sharp and analyzing, he would know that voice anywhere.

“Lllhmmm?” he says. He can’t quite make his mouth work, either, stupid body. But he can force his eyes open, looking up into the deep blue eyes of Logan. His eyes are squinched behind his glasses, mouth tight with worry, but a relieved look crosses his face.

“Thank the gods,” Logan mutters, making a quick sign of gratitude for his patron deity, The Goddex of Knowledge, and then gently runs his fingers all over Roman.

“Hey, Ro. Hey.” There are tears in Logan’s eyes as he assesses the damage. “You are-shit-” He sends out a short blast of magic, sparkly blue dragon scales again. “Keep them away!” he orders. It takes every ounce of Roman’s attention to tilt his head around and see that they are surrounded by enemies, but more importantly that there are four familiar figures standing in a circle around them, keeping the dangers at bay.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Focus on me, nothing else. Alright? Look at me. That’s it.” Logan forces a smile at him. Rather absurdly for the situation, Roman thinks to himself,  _ That’s my mage _ . Then again, things can’t get much more off course than they already are, with Roman lying on the ground like some helpless townie getting thrown into a conflict that has nothing to do with him.

“I’m going to heal you,” Logan says. He presses a hand gently into Roman’s cheek, so tender in the middle of a battle, and Roman suddenly realizes that things must be much more dire than he thought. Logan has only ever diverted from his no-nonsense, serious battle-self when he truly thought the person he was speaking with would not make it. Is Roman going to die? “You have lost a lot of blood,” Logan continues, voice shaking, “and you have a serious wound on your torso, but it is nothing I cannot handle.”

He takes the hand on Roman’s face back and lifts it, a blue glow encasing it.  _ Like magic _ , Roman thinks before laughing. The laughs turn into coughs immediately. A warm, thick substance splatters onto his own face, and normally Roman would say that it was nasty and make a face, but all he can do now is keep coughing, hacking up everything in him. Lungs, stomach, bladder. He’s going to cough all of it out. Whoever said lungs were supposed to be on the inside obviously had no idea what they were talking about, considering Roman’s are about to make an appearance.

“Shh, shh,” Logan says desperately, pressing his hand into Roman’s chest. It’s  _ cold _ and it  _ burns _ , but Roman stops coughing. He whines, pitifully, trying to scoot away with limbs that aren’t working. It hurts so much and he doesn’t want it.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says, retracting his hand. There are tears streaming down his face and Roman hates that, hates how Logan is hurting so badly he’s crying where everyone can see. “I know it hurts. I know. But you have to trust me, okay? I am going to heal you.”

With his free hand, Logan grabs Roman’s hand. He can remember once, when he got hurt years ago, Logan had held his hand and said,  _ squeeze when it hurts. It makes it better _ . Roman tries to curl his fingers around Logan’s, assure him that he  _ is _ hurting, but he’s still alive and he has complete faith in Logan (he cannot remember Logan ever failing when someone’s life was on the line) but he still can’t feel his fingers or his hand, can barely even tell that Logan is holding it like a vice.

“You will live to see tomorrow,” Logan says, and then he lowers his glowing hand to Roman’s wound. There is a burning, searing coldness and his muscles contract. A sound like air rushing out of an over-hot tea kettle comes out of Roman’s mouth. His back arches off the ground slightly and finally, even in the midst of all this pain, he is aware when he returns Logan’s grip with a squeeze of his own.

Then the world goes black.

~~~~~

There was a battle. Roman can remember it clearly-more clearly than he wants to. He is still on bed rest, even after three full days, and he despises that the others won’t even let him walk ( ~~ stagger ~~ ) to the bathroom by himself.

Still, it’s not all bad. In the bed beside his own (pushed together so that they could be near each other), underneath a thick white blanket, Logan resides. His skin is sallow from the energy it took to heal Roman, and every hour another bowl of soup is brought to him to help him replenish his strength. Roman has not let go of his hand for longer than a minute since he woke up.

“If they bring me one more bowl of soup that has  _ beets _ in it, I will scream,” Logan grumbles, turning his face into his pillow. Roman chuckles, running a finger over the back of Logan’s hand.

“Have you told them you don’t like beets?” Roman suggests, knowing full-well that he has.

“Yes,” Logan says, “and they insist that they are too helpful in restoring energy and magic that I should just suck it up and eat them anyway.”

“They could be right,” Roman says, and smiles when Logan blows up.

“Beets are an abomination to man and I hate them.” He struggles to roll over in the bed, blanket heavy enough to impede his progress, and then scoots closer to Roman. He stares deep into Roman’s eyes, like he’s going to say something deeply meaningful. “Roman, will you eat my beets?”

Roman loses it laughing, so hard that his newly-scarred stomach aches with exhaustion. Logan sighs, but he doesn’t sound all that put-out about it, really.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” he admits minutes later, after Roman has stopped intermittently giggling about beets. “You lost so much blood, and-”

“I know,” Roman says quietly. “I know, Specs. But I never doubted you. I knew you’d heal me up, right as rain.”

“You have too much faith in uncertainties.”

“Nothing about you is an uncertainty,” Roman says. “You’re my mage, and I love you. Nothing’s changing that.”

“I love you, too,” Logan says, burying his face in Roman’s shoulder. “And there is not a force in this world or the next capable of changing that, either.”

Roman kisses the top of his head and Logan sighs, content. Roman smiles. The battle may have been rough, but at least they all made it through. That is just as important to Roman as winning ever could be.

He falls into his nap smiling, Logan a gentle, perfect weight on his shoulder.


End file.
